


The Continuity Problem

by aban_asaara



Series: Month of Fanfiction 2017 [6]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Body Horror, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 01:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17315876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aban_asaara/pseuds/aban_asaara
Summary: Shepard has a hard time coming to terms with what Cerberus has done to bring her back to life and confides in Mordin.





	The Continuity Problem

**Author's Note:**

> Month of Fanfiction - Day 6 - A fandom you love but never write for. Tried my hand at some Mass Effect with a conversation I envisioned Shepard and Mordin having at some point during the events of the second game.

The door of the starboard observation deck slides open behind Shepard, interrupting the almost inaudible purr of the Normandy’s engines. Years of training and drills rush through her to heighten her senses and tighten her muscles. “Mordin,” she starts when the salarian ambles into the room, “do you never sleep?”  


She asks only because _she_ hasn’t been sleeping, and each time she walked past the tech lab she could glimpse his slender form hunched over some samples or a monitor. Stupid question, of course, though Mordin has the decency of not pointing it out. “One hour a day on average. High-speed metabolism. Taking a short break while samples are being processed. Proven to improve concentration and productivity,” he adds, tapping the side of his head with one gloved finger. Then he looks at her, presses a sequence of keys on his omni-tool, and sweeps her form with the beam of the scanner. “Dilated pupils, hypertension, tachycardia. Abnormal levels of norepinephrine and cortisol. Something wrong, Shepard?”

Shepard snorts. Where to even start? “Nothing new. Nightmares. Have been having them since Akuze.”

“Ah. Read about it in your psychological profile.”

“Then you know I was the only survivor after thresher maws attacked our unit. Officially, anyway,” she adds, chuckling humorlessly. In her memories, Corporal Toombs shoots himself in the head and falls limp as if it was happening before her very eyes. “Some acid got through my hardsuit. Nothing a few grafts and a skin-cell gun couldn’t fix, but you could still see some scars, though. But now?” She tugs the sleeve of her jacket off an arm. Where the off-tones patches and discolored edges of the grafts used to be visible, her skin is now smooth—except for the fiery crazes that run around her elbow and down her forearm. “But now, no more scars.”

Mordin looks at her, the membrane of his lids gliding up his enormous eyeballs, then presses a few more keys on his omni-tool. “Cortisol levels on the rise again. Clear signs of distress. Cause—unclear, however.”

Shepard takes a deep breath, searches for the words to sort the muddled mess of her mind into something coherent, but all she comes up with is a scream trying to claw its way out of her. The glint at the bottom of her eyes stares back at her in the window of the starboard observatory, lost among thousand of dead stars. “I remember the thresher maws, but … what if I never fought them?” she manages through gritted teeth. “What if I died—what if _Commander Shepard_ died in space, and Cerberus just messed around with my brain and now I think I’m her even though I’m not? At this point I’m just one giant walking cybernetic implant, anyway,” she says with a gesture towards the glowing cracks in her arm. “How do I know my brain isn’t the same? Just a new brain with a copy of the real Commander’s memories?”

“Ah,” Mordin starts, a smile crinkling the brown-red markings on his skin. “The continuity problem.”

Shepard chuckles. “The what now?”

“Can the self persist without physical continuity of the brain? Are we the sum of the information contained in our brains, the physical substrates thereof, a combination?” He sniffs, rubbing his chin with one hand. “In lay terms, if the data of a computer is copied to another disk, and the original computer destroyed, does it still exist?”

“And what if our proverbial computer has been spaced, had its memory wiped out and then every single part replaced or upgraded?”

Mordin laughs under his breath. “Still exists, then, however altered. Not too dissimilar to your own case. Reviewed Miranda’s notes. Tissue cultivated from undamaged parts of the brain, then grafted to existing tissue to repair damage.” He starts pacing, horns and hooked digitigrade legs silhouetted before the vastness of space spread out beyond the observation window. The words come out of his mouth in short, excited bursts. “Neurological pathways restored, grafted tissue began storing data, full neurological functionality eventually restored as well. Similar to how hemispheres of the brain are connected while also capable of independent thought. Theoretically simple. Excessively complex in practice.”

Her eyes follow him as he walks back and forth across the observatory deck, though her brain doesn’t follow anywhere near as well. “Hold on, Mordin,” she says, flashing her palm at him. “Miranda showed you her notes, and you just believe her?”

Mordin stops and turns to look at her, his tall back stiffening. “Preposterous. Skepticism at the heart of scientific inquiry. But results consistent with own observations and tests. Besides, did not _show_ me her notes. But know my way around security protocols. Former STG operative, after all.”

“Right.” Settling back into her seat, Shepard looks back at the cloudy stretch of the Pylos Nebula outside the window of the observation deck. Her scars gleam; her eyes burn bright orange amidst the many red giants. Mordin’s omni-tool whirrs as he activates it to punch a few keys again. His lecture about neurological pathways and grafted tissue didn’t comfort her so much as it confused her. “I just feel like there will always be this _doubt_ gnawing at the back of my mind as to whether I’m the same Shepard as before. I don’t trust the Illusive Man to tell me anything other than whatever serves his purpose.”

“Maybe need to look at it from another angle.” He turns off his omni-tool, and with it fades the orange glow it cast on the white of his uniform and the black of his eyes. “What if your memories _are_ only a copy of Shepard’s?”

Count on Mordin to discuss her worst fear like it was just another scientific hypothesis, another problem to solve. “Ethical considerations, to begin with. And Garrus, Joker, Captain Anderson, Dr. Chakwas—they all knew the real Shepard. I can’t imagine how _betrayed_ they’d feel.”

“Perhaps. Seem to have accepted you as the real Shepard, however. Also too late for ethical considerations.” Mordin sniffs, blinks his eye-membranes over his enormous pupils again a few times. “Would it make you any less real? Any less capable of leading the fight against the Collectors? Any less _you_?”

Shepard looks down at the inside of her arm, at the smooth skin where a scar used to run. It doesn’t _feel_ right, but she can’t put the reason why into words. She envies Mordin his certainty, the solace he finds in what can be measured or quantified.

His omni-tool starts glowing and beeping again. “Samples ready. Break over.” He looks at her, hesitating.

“Go. I won’t hold you up.”

Mordin nods his head once. “Will be in tech lab if you need me.” The door soon slides closed behind his reflection in the window.

Beyond, stars of all sorts shine: neutron stars, protostars, dwarf stars, hypergiants nearing the end of their lifetime, entire galaxies and supernovae reduced to the size of a fingernail.

Thousands upon thousands of stars, some maybe long dead, even though they appear to her otherwise.

Dead, maybe, but still shining—and maybe it’s enough that she still casts light.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hello on [Tumblr](https://aban-asaara.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
